


Reaching For Tom

by marysiak



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Tom Riddle's Diary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 06:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6107791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marysiak/pseuds/marysiak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>12 year old Harry has a late night conversation with Tom Riddle via his diary.</p><p>Written as part of a Christmas fic exchange in 2002 where the rules were 500-3,000-word fic, PG-13 or lower and the request by Silver Rising was, "Well, I'd like to receive a Harry/Tom fic... a look into the bond  and similarities that they have.... weeeee!". But although the request was PG-13 I added a more mature end to the story at a later date cause I am incapable of not writing smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reaching For Tom

**Author's Note:**

> OMG I finally found the end of this story that people kept claiming existed and I was sure didn't! It has now been added.

   
Reaching For Tom    
by Marysia (Dec 2002)  
   
It was late at night and Harry, unable to sleep, found himself again reaching for the strange black diary he had found in the disused girl's bathroom. Reaching for Tom. Something he had been doing more and more often. Talking to Tom was like talking to himself only... better, more real, more satisfying.  
   
Lying in his bed with only the faint glimmer of wand light he opened up the small book and began to write.  
   
'Hi Tom, I can't sleep again.'  
   
'What's bothering you, Harry.'  
   
'Don't know. I'm worried about Hagrid. Worried that it's not over.'  
   
'Don't be, things have been quiet for ages.'  
   
'I know, but still...'  
   
'Think about something else. Tell me about your family.'  
   
'I don't have one, my parents are dead.'  
   
'My mother is dead... well, I suppose my father is too by now.'  
   
'I'm sorry.'  
   
'I don't remember her, she died when I was a baby.'  
   
'My parents died when I was a baby too. Did you live with your father then?'  
   
'No, I... My father and I didn't get along.'  
   
'I don't get along with the people I live with, my aunt and uncle, they're muggles and they hate magic.'  
   
'My father was a muggle too, we have more in common than I thought.'  
   
'Really?'  
   
'My father doesn't... didn't like magic, that's why I don't live with him.'  
   
'Did you like it at Hogwarts?'  
   
'I love it, it's my only real home.'  
   
'That's how I feel too, I hate going home in the summer.'  
   
'I stay here every Christmas.'  
   
'Me too!'  
   
'See, plenty in common.'  
   
'You're a prefect though, aren't you. I don't think I will be, I get into too much trouble and my grades aren't that great.'  
   
'Gryffindors always get into more trouble than everyone else.'  
   
'What house were you in?'  
   
There was a moments pause before... 'Ravenclaw.'  
   
'What does it feel like?' Harry wondered. 'Being inside a book?'  
   
'It's hard to remember what it felt like not to be. I hardly remember having flesh and blood.'  
   
'Do you miss it.'  
   
'Yes.'  
   
Harry absently rubbed his hand over his skin and then over the page of the diary. 'Can you feel it when people touch the diary or do you not feel anything?'  
   
'I can feel it, but it's strange. Not like flesh on flesh. Maybe like breath on the back of your neck.'  
   
That image sent prickles down Harry's spine and he squirmed slightly against the covers.  
   
'What are you thinking?' Tom asked.  
   
'Nothing,' he scribbled back.  
   
'I don't believe you, your handwriting is messy. Why couldn't you get to sleep?'  
   
'I told you already.'  
   
'I think you weren't quite telling the truth.'  
   
Harry didn't write anything in reply. Tom was right, although he had no idea how he knew when he couldn't know anything but what Harry wrote.  
   
'Are you hard?'  
   
Harry gasped and looked around the room as if someone might be watching him. All he saw was the inside of his curtains. 'No! Not that I'd tell you if I was.'  
   
'Why not? I'm not going to judge you and I can hardly tell anyone else.'  
   
'I'm not.'  
   
'Do you have a girlfriend at school?'  
   
'No. I'm only 12 you know.'  
   
'Sorry, I forgot. You seem older, I keep thinking you're 16 like me.'  
   
Harry grinned at that. 'Did you have a girlfriend?'  
   
'No, not really.'  
   
For some reason Harry felt relieved to read that. 'It seems like an awful waste of time to me. I'd rather play Quidditch or hang out with Ron and Hermione.'  
   
'I thought Hermione was a girl.'  
   
'Well, yes. But mostly she's just Hermione.'  
   
'What about Ron's sister, what was her name?'  
   
'Ginny. What about her?'  
   
'You said before that she liked you.'  
   
Harry didn't remember mentioning that, but he supposed he must have. 'Right. But I'm not interested in her, she's kind of odd anyway.'  
   
'Odd how.'  
   
'I don't know. She can't string two words together around me and she's always staring. It's creepy. I mean she's Ron's sister so I have to be nice to her but if she wasn't...'  
   
'What?'  
   
'Nothing. She's okay really, I just get tired of being stared at sometimes.'  
   
'It's hardly surprising, someone who has done what you have done. You must understand their interest.'  
   
'I just wish they'd get over it, it was a really long time ago and I don't even remember it.'  
   
'Nothing?'  
   
'Nothing. Except maybe a flash of green light and someone screaming.'  
   
'I'm sure Ginny would stare at you even if you weren't famous.'  
   
'Why?'  
   
'You are a good looking boy.'  
   
Harry blushed. 'Thanks. You were pretty good looking too, you must have had a lot of girls stare at you.'  
   
'A few, not just girls either.'  
   
'What do you...' Harry stopped. 'Oh, I get it. Really?'  
   
'I'm sure there must be a few boys who stare at you like Ginny does,'  
   
'I don't know, I never looked. Colin Creevey takes my picture a lot. These days people stare at me because they think I'm the Heir of Slytherin, not because they think I'm good looking.'  
   
'You would be surprised, people are attracted to danger and darkness.'  
   
'Not me, I'd be quite happy if things were quiet and sunny.'  
   
'Quiet, sunny days don't call for heroes, Harry.'  
   
'I didn't ask to be a hero.'  
   
'We don't get a choice in who we are, we all have a destiny to fulfil.'  
   
'I don't think I believe in destiny.'  
   
'Time makes us all believers. I've had a lot of time.'  
   
'Were you aware, all those years?'  
   
'I was... asleep.'  
   
'Did you dream?'  
   
'I think maybe I dreamed of you.'  
   
Harry frowned, sometimes Tom said strange things like that, 'What?'  
   
'I think I dreamed of you, maybe I was seeing the future.'  
   
'Is that possible?'  
   
'Yes, for those with the talent. I never had it but I think perhaps once in a while I dreamed things that came true, I just didn't know they would at the time.'  
   
'I don't think I'd want to have dreams like that, I don't want my dreams coming true. Day dreams maybe, but not what I dream at night.'  
   
'What do you dream about at night?'  
   
'I don't know, I have nightmares sometimes but I usually can't remember what they were about.'  
   
'You should write them down as soon as you wake up, that way you will remember them.'  
   
Harry thought about that and as he did he ran his fingers over the blank page in front of him. It was strange that they had these conversations and not a trace of the words was ever left behind.  
   
When he drew his hand away more writing appeared. 'Don't stop.'  
   
'What?'  
   
'Do that again, it felt good.'  
   
Harry drew away from the book nervously. 'I have to get to sleep,' he wrote eventually. 'It's late.'  
   
'If you must, but remember, I'll be here, waiting for you. I have nowhere else to go.'  

Harry hesitated. 'I could stay a little longer.'  
   
'I would like that.'  
   
He reached down cautiously and again ran his fingers over the page, feeling the rich paper catch slightly on the the rough skin of his fingers.  
   
'Do you want to answer my question again, Harry? Just between you and I?'  
   
'Which question?'  
   
'Why couldn't you sleep?'  
   
'I...' he watched the ink sink into the creamy paper. 'I was... we had Quidditch practice tonight and afterwards, in the showers...'  
   
'It's all right to tell me, I want to know.'  
   
'I was looking at Fred and George and I got hard and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it,' Harry scribbled in a rush.  
   
When the words disappeared he was relieved. The words that replaced them wound him tighter again. 'Are you hard now?'  
   
'Yes,' he replied unsteadily.  
   
'You could do something about that, it would probably help you sleep.'  
   
'Did you...'  
   
'Masturbate?'  
   
'Yes.'  
   
'Of course, everyone does. It's nothing to be ashamed about.'  
   
'I was worried someone might hear me.'  
   
'They're all asleep now though, aren't they?'  
   
'Yes.'  
   
'So touch yourself, Harry.'  
   
Harry drew in a slow breath, watching the words melt away.  
   
'Tell me how it feels.'  
   
'I don't know...'  
   
'As a favour, as a friend. I miss it.'  
   
Harry cupped himself with his left hand, squeezing lightly, as he wrote, 'I suppose I could try to, it feels kind of weird.'  
   
'Are you touching yourself now?'  
   
'Yes, through my pyjamas.'  
   
'Take them off.'  
   
'I've never really done this before.'  
   
'I'll help you, I'll tell you what to do.'  
   
'Okay.'

Harry put down his quill and pulled off his pyjama bottoms. He felt like he could almost see Tom sitting opposite on his bed. Tom with his strong jaw and piercing eyes and his thick black hair.

Was there hair in other places too?

In all his time in the wizarding world he thought this was probably the strangest thing he had done. Wondering what hand he should use for what he switched his quill from hand to hand a few times.  
  
'Are you still there?' Tom wrote.  
  
'Yes,' he scribbled awkwardly with his left hand. 'It's hard to write at the same time.'  
  
'Don't worry, just write what you can, write what you feel. Don't think about it. Enjoy it.'  
  
'OK,' Harry scrawled. He let the quill rest against the paper, making a blot, as he stroked himself with his right hand. It wasn't that he had never touched himself before, but this was different. Different because he had got hard looking at someone instead of just at random, different because Tom was here and that seemed to be making him even harder. Thinking about Tom doing this, wondering if he would take him back inside the diary and show him if he asked.   
  
With a gasp he discovered what it felt like to be awake when this happened and before he could stop it he was coming over his hand and splattering the pristine pages of the diary that lay open before him. He stared in surprise as the thirsty pages swallowed the sticky liquid just like they swallowed his words, in a moment they were as spotless as they always were.  
  
He wiped the rest of the mess away on his pyjama top and picked up his quill again, but before he could gather himself enough to write Tom beat him to it.  
  
'Thank you, Harry. That was nice.'  
  
'I forgot to write,' Harry said.  
  
'That's all right. What you gave me was even better. Did it feel good?'  
  
Harry scrubbed his hand over his face and then through his hair.  
  
'Yes,' he scribbled finally, feeling that didn't really cover it.  
  
'It's late, Harry. Go to sleep.'  
  
'Thanks. Goodnight, Tom.'  
  
'Goodnight, Harry. Pleasant dreams.'

**Author's Note:**

> Please do read my [other Harry Potter stories.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/marysiak/pseuds/marysiak)


End file.
